The Twisted Games We Play
by GinTsuki
Summary: AU. An Asylum, a doctor, and several patients who are sick - but not in the way John can fix.
1. Chapter One

**Proper Summary:** Just so you know where I am going with this, here's an explanation. This is an _altered_ universe where John works at a mental hospital privately owned by Mycroft and supported by several benefactors. Sherlock is indeed a patient within, but so are some other familliar faces. The characters are very simular to the real deal, the only things that have changed are their life circumstances and the effect it has on their personalities. The genre is _horror/suspense _because things are going to go very wrong and get rather complicated. It'll probably play out like a deadly game of cat and mouse, only there are two cats and one mouse...

Also, this isn't a super-slashy fic, it's only going to get as spicy as the show (but like the series, the romantic possiblities are going to be up in the air). Feel free to suggest, comment, complain, and question through PM or review. I live off of feedback in order to get better, so please do drop me a note, I will love you for always. I Hope you enjoy this twisted tale.

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**Chapter One**

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><p>"<em>I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity<em>." - Edgar Allan Poe

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><p>.<p>

A clock ticked somewhere out of sight, marking the seconds like a dripping faucet. With his eyelids heavy, the former soldier leaned back on the uncomfortable metal bench and placed his head against the wall. Beside him, his friend ran a hand through curly hair and bit his lower lip as if to stop nattering to fill the silence. It worked for a solid minute, but in the end he gave in - as he always did.

"I'm sure it'll be fine John... I mean, we fit the bill perfectly don't we? Got some muscle to us... we have the training... you have a way with people... I can be charming..." The man was rambling and it made the other lift his head from the wall and give him a reassuring smile.

"Bill, even if it's not fine, there's plenty of other jobs out there."

He was lying.

John generally didn't lie to his friends, but something about this assignment had him looking for the exit signs. The advertisement in the paper was tasteful, professional and very appealing to a poor man on an army pension; yet his gut told him there was something wrong - very wrong about the work. John didn't know if it was something bad about to happen, or it was something to do with his potential employers, but he wanted out and he wasn't even _in_ yet.

If only there was a way of explaining himself to Bill. He couldn't walk away from what looked like well-paid work, just based on his unfounded paranoia. Bill knew him as the sort of man who would hunker down and face anything with a brave face. If he turned his back now, John would never hear the end of it.

_Run while you still can John. Never mind Bill, he can look after himself._

His head was starting to pound and the doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose impatiently. Why was Bill so bloody chuffed to work in an asylum anyway?

"Listen, I'm going to only wait five more minutes. I'm having second thoughts..." John was saying just as door opened off of the long white hallway they were seated in. Both men lapsed back into silence and turned their heads just as a very pretty girl with straight teeth peered out and smiled at the both of them. John suddenly felt claustrophobic, even though the hospital corridors were rather spacious. This was a trap. Some sort of ambush.

_ You've been a solder for far too long John._

"Bill Murray and John Watson I presume?" She was stunning, and John wondered why a model was playing secretary in a place such as _this_.

"Yes, that's us!" Bill said, always eager to get things moving. He stood and gave John a sly wink before going over to the girl and chatting her up. John sighed and followed, suddenly finding himself the third wheel. It was always like this with Bill. Once a woman with a flirty look passed his way, everything else just faded away.

She led them both through the doorway and into a large office that was surprisingly bare. There was a door off to the left that peaked John's curiosity for he couldn't guess where it could lead. He would have said it was an attached closet space, but the light under the door frame suggested otherwise. His eyes were drawn from it to a hardwood chair as their escort gestured to it with a tilt to her head. "Please sit. Mr. Holmes will be with you shortly. Would either of you like a cup of tea?"

The two of them accepted the offer and watched her leave through the mysterious door, leaving them waiting in the suspenseful quiet yet again. John was starting to feel the paranoia creeping into his thoughts for a second time, though Bill seemed a lot more relaxed now that there were some hormones in circulation.

"Did you see the smile on that one? She was cute... this job just keeps looking better and better!"

John didn't comment. He knew better than to encourage Bill to chase a skirt at what would most likely be their future workplace.

They waited a few more minutes before a man dressed in a plain grey suit strode in and appraised the pair as if they were merely cattle. His face was striking, as if carved out of stone since it rarely left the stoic expression it defaulted to. He sat down on the other side of the barren oak desk, appearing like an ordinary gentlemen in his mannerisms, but those eyes haunted John. They seemed like the eyes of a higher being – cold and all knowing. To this man, John _was_ just cattle and rightly so. The difference in intellectual prowess was immeasurable, and John figured it out before the man had said a word.

"Good evening Doctor Watson, Mister Murray." He looked at them in turn and smiled diplomatically. "I have read both your resumes and gathered from your records that you are fetching candidates for the position I have available. I am willing to hire you on as attendants, if you find the paperwork to your advantage." At this he turned around and withdrew a folder from a large cabinet. It contained two booklets that John and Bill were expected to read. John was the first to pick his up and leaf through it. As he did so, the pretty girl came back with a tea tray and set it delicately on the desk. She gave a brief nod to her employer before she exited just as quickly as she came. Over the top of the page John was examining, he noticed Bill's eyes follow the secretary on the way out. He cleared his throat so that their potential employer wouldn't catch the man oogling his underlings.

"Code and conduct... workplace safety... and waivers?" John paused at the last few sheets. There were a few that made his eyebrows raise; apparently the institution wasn't responsible for any harm inflicted by patients. It stuck him as odd. How many occurances did they need before they had decided they couldn't pay the worker's compensation? He lowered the papers and fixed Mr. Holmes with a curious stare. "And patient confidentiality? I was under the impression were were attendants, not psychologists or GP's"

"The contract at the end clearly defines your expected duties Dr. Watson. You will find that some of our patients do quite a lot of talking, and some things are not for layman's ears. If you do happen to overhear anything of interest, I trust that you will keep it to yourselves." The way Mr. Holmes spoke was mesmerizing; it was as if everything was fact and he were daring the world to prove it otherwise.

"I see." John read his booklet in silence as Bill negotiated wages and asked questions about hypothetical situations and potential benefits. Occasionally John would ask for clarification of a term in his contract, but in the end he couldn't find anything that he could use to turn down the job. All in all, it seemed very suited to him. The pay was almost _too_ good, but not sweet enough to arouse John's already stirring suspicions past the breaking point. He set down the paperwork just as Mr. Holmes offered him a pen.

"Welcome aboard Doctor."

John stared into the dark eyes staring back at him. There was a tiny bit of mischievousness in that thin lipped grin that set the hairs on the back of the doctor's neck on end. Why did he feel like he was being railroaded down a path he wouldn't normally travel?

"I haven't even signed yet..." He muttered quietly before slowly signing his name in the thirteen different boxes required.

"I knew you would accept the post as soon as I walked into the room." Such finality in the statement. The arrogance there both amused and irritated John. He wanted to say something to make Mr. Holmes clarify, but Bill got there as he started to sign his own paperwork.

"Is that so? I Nearly had to drag the bloke here by his ears. Then again, we're both used to more sensible patients..."

Bill's words seemed to twist the expression on Mr. Holmes' face into one of coldness. No longer did John see any of the puckishness that had intrigued him. This new face had anyone with a bit of sense tense and alert.

The man rose from his seat and strolled behind the two men to better see if they had missed anything regarding their papers. "I assure you, some of the people you will be working with are _quite _sensible; after all, those that dance appear insane to anyone who can not hear the music, wouldn't you agree?"

Bill chuckled nervously, "I think hearing things others don't is why most of them are here..."

John noticed that his friend was slowly digging himself a grave and cut into the conversation before Mr. Holmes could give Bill a hopeless glance. "Would it be possible for a tour of the establishment? I would like to familiarize myself with the place so that next time I arrive I won't waste any time becoming hopelessly lost."

Mr. Holmes looked back to John, interested in the deviation from the previous topic. "Yes. My secretary will escort you where ever you wish to go – within reason." He looked up and as if cued, the door opened and the girl came out yet again, still smiling as if it would hurt her to do otherwise.

"If you are all finished, we could start at the cafeteria. Most of the patients are there, so you can meet a few of them if you want." She suggested, head tilting slightly so a lock of auburn hair fell over her shoulder; both John and Bill were drawn to the movement. John shook his head and mentally noted that the reason he was probably so easily distracted, was because he had been in the military for far too long.

"Yes, I think I am done here." The doctor looked to Holmes for confirmation before standing up and wandering to the door, Bill at his side. "The Cafeteria would be lovely."

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	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

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><p>"Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage." - Ray Bradbury<p>

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><p>.<p>

The tour of the hospital opened John's eyes to the sort of workplace he had chained himself to. It was pleasant in a plastic way, as if an architect had known what a textbook hospital should be and tried to simulate without being too obvious about it. There were decorative pieces on display every few feet and a large salt-water fish tank in the centre of a hallway intersection. There was something fitting about finding colorful fish trapped behind glass in the middle of an asylum; though, John didn't have time to fully grasp the metaphor as he was led beyond where more residences awaited his inspection. From what John could tell, there were about a hundred rooms, some with the stereotypical accoutrements one could imagine an asylum to have and others which were fashioned to the occupant's taste as if they owned it. One thing he noted was that all the doors all had electronic locks. It ruined the careful illusion the hospital had cast and revealed the prison beneath.

"The cafeteria is right through here..." Their guide said as she turned right at the end of the corridor. They passed a spacious reception area to enter what looked more like a sunlit restaurant. Bill was driven speechless by everything he was seeing, but the silence only lasted a few moments – as usual.

"It's like... some sort of Californian rehab centre. You know, for rich people..."

"We spare no expense trying to make our patients feel comfortable. For many, this is their only home." The girl brushed past both of them and brought them into the midst of the room, where there were several people eating a late breakfast. John couldn't help but notice there was a piano in the corner with a man sitting at it staring blankly at the keys.

Their guide introduced the pair of them to some friendly patients who appeared perfectly normal by John's standards. One woman had a stutter and seemed a little unable to focus on any task, and the other was a little excitable. It was some what relieving. So far there were no lunatics wanting to jump out at him, or people rocking back and forth singing creepy children songs. John knew that as a doctor he shouldn't have been expecting such, but the paranoia from before was still there. Were his earlier instincts wrong? Where was the danger he had been sensing?

The tour was almost over by the time John and Bill arrived on the second floor. It was about three-o-clock and they were in high spirits. From what they could surmise, their work environment seemed very pleasing. All the coworkers they passed were friendly and engaging, and the job itself was simple.

The last place on their walk around was a large library with an attached conservatory. Bill was still flirting outrageously with the secretary so John decided to explore the wild looking greenhouse on his own. It had a large glass entrance with elegant metal framework that curled about and accented the plants within. There were benches beyond it, pointed at different angles to offer the best views. Despite the large deck, there was only one other person was enjoying the smattering of sunlight that filtered through the leaves. He was sitting casually on a canvas chair (presumably his own) and playing with something in his hand.

Not wanting to disturb the man, John stuck close to the doorway leading back to the library. The doctor took in the sweet scent of healthy flora and paused to look at some creeping vines before the man in the chair intrigued him with his movements. A moth had landed on the stranger's hand and was currently crawling over his knuckles. Every time it tried to depart, the man snatched it out of the air and trapped it within the cage of his fingers till it calmed. He repeated the process several times before he became bored and started to scratch at its wings. He was in the process of pulling them off when John moved forward, as if to come to its rescue.

"If you do that you'll kill it." He said calmly, his unexpected words not even fazing the patient in the slightest. John wondered if he had been noticed from the beginning and the stranger had threatened the moth for the attention.

"What is the life of one insect worth I wonder? Surely not a stern lecture or a wagging finger – if that was your intention." He looked over his shoulder, clutching the moth between his index finger and his thumb. Even from this distance John could see the small fuzzy legs pushing furiously at the flesh that held it. "They are as common as the breath in your lungs."

He looked back to the wriggling moth and squashed it, the parts of it tumbling from his fingertips as he rubbed them together. The action made John cringe; he already didn't like this person.

"Fancy words. Are you a writer?" He hid his irritation well. Now he was just trying to make a passing impression so he could politely excuse himself from his company. However, the question summoned laughter from the mad man and he leaned back in his chair.

"Oh... _you_. Adorable. These streams of questions really do get to a person after awhile. It seems like the only tool in the box. I can't fault you for it though, I can tell that you're new." He looked to his hands with vanity and tilted his head. "I'm a Professor, or I suppose I _was._ Titles mean little in this place. Once you check in you leave your identity at the door and become a wandering mind with an attached circulatory system to pump full of poison so they can record the findings. The drugs are good though – don't misunderstand." His face darkened as he lowered his head into his chest and tensed. "I _hate_ it when people misunderstand."

John stood there, dumbfounded by the speech he just heard. "I'll try not to misunderstand, but I'm afraid I'm missing your point. Er... my name is Watson, yours?"

"Doctor Watson." The man clarified.

"Wh-"

"James Moriarty. Now please leave. I've used up all the civility I'm willing to give you _ordinary types_." He said curtly before closing his eyes and smiling to himself. He reminded John of a temperamental cat. When John didn't immediately leave he waved a hand at him and hissed.

Choosing to humour the patient, John left and looked around to try and find Bill, but the orderly wasn't where he left him. After some fruitless searching of the second floor, he gave up and decided that the tour was almost over anyway so he might as well go home. Their guide had told them that their first shift was Monday morning, and he knew enough to navigate his way back to Mr. Holmes' office when the time came.

It was only during the commute on the train when John reflected on the character of Moriarty. There was something about the man the stuck John was as frightening. John had always regarded himself as brave, so the realization stung him a little; especially since he couldn't tell where this irrational fear was coming from. Maybe it was those cold eyes, snuffing the life out of that moth without a care. Maybe it was the expression on his face as he waxed poetic, like he were a king and all else dogs.

Whatever it was, John tried to forget it as he bought some take-away and ate it alone in the darkness of his flat. The television cast intermittent light over his face as he watched some mindless sitcom and fell asleep hours later, half-way through a documentary on sharks. In this dreams there was fire and the smell of gunpowder. When he woke in the middle of the night, he recalled a hazy memory of a moth bursting into flame, but it was lost once he reloacted to his bed and fell back into a restful slumber.

Monday was the weekend away, John still had plenty of time to forget all about moths and James Moriarty.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>:

I think I'm using this fic as a distraction from life at the moment. I really should be finishing '**Playing The Fool**' (almost done the last chapter) but this one keeps nagging at me. Sherlock will most likely be in the next chapter. The characters aren't going to be spot on because this is an alternate universe, but they will be familiar since their backgrounds are simular to the ones in the show. I just made them twisted and darker - except for ordinary John Watson. The poor guy... he has no idea that horrors in store for him.

Hope you liked meeting my Jim.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

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><p>"The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane." - Marcus Aurelius<p>

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><p>.<p>

Monday morning came with a downpour so intense that it had failed to be funnelled by the street drains. Puddles had blossomed into traffic, adding wet friction to the noise of whining pedestrians and assaulted umbrellas. The scent of oil, compost and excrement penetrated everything the water touched.

At Marylebone station, John ran to catch his train, jogging through couples and crowds gathered in the shelter the tube provided. The doctor didn't care that he was soaked to the bone; If he caught this train, he would be at work half an hour early. That would give him enough time to hunt down a towel, change into a dry uniform, and be presentable to Mr. Holmes for his first assignment.

As an added bonus, in the cramped compartment the general populace chose to stand as far from him as they could for fear of the water dripping off of every limb. There was only one exception, and that was a kindly old woman looking at John with her forehead furrowed in thought. He tried not to make eye contact, but they got out at the same stop and started in the same direction.

The wind started to pick up as soon as John left the station. It added a bite to the miserable weather and sent a chill up the doctor's spine. To the left of him, the old woman's turned her umbrella against the gusts. John noticed that her short strides had doubled in pace to keep up with his long ones. She was trying to initiate a conversation and he slowed to let her.

"You're one of the new assistants up at the hospital aren't you?" The lady asked after some time, raising her voice over the sound of the rain hitting her floral canopy.

"Yeah, hired a few days ago. First day today."

She raised her umbrella to capture the both of them under its protection. "You're going to catch your death of cold. Here." She offered him the shaft of her accessory as she stared him up and down. "You hold my umbrella for the both of us and I'll show you where we keep the dry laundry. Does that sound fair?"

John hesitated for a moment and looked at the woman in a new light. There was nothing but good nature in her features, so he couldn't help but nod. With little hesitation, he took her umbrella and held it steady over the both of them, reducing his stride so that the woman wouldn't be out of breath during their walk. "That sounds very fair - and very kind. Thank-you."

The lady beamed. "My name is Hudson. Mrs. Hudson. I work in the kitchens. It's a tough ol' job keeping that lot up at the Hospital fed, but I manage. Today is going to be a good day though. Lasagna. My own recipe!" She went off on that topic for several lengthy minutes while they approached the main entrance. John noticed that people exiting the main doors had to enter a key code in order for the doors to unlock. He wondered how he didn't realize this when he was last there. He must have followed someone out who had held the door – this had John thinking.

"Has anyone ever... escaped?" John enquired as he left muddy tracks down the corridors, making on janitor give him the evil eye as he passed.

"Escaped? Why that's rather silly. This place is rather pleasant, you'll see. Most the patients don't want to leave, and those that do are capable of it at times." Her voice tapered off and a strange expression crossed Mrs. Hudson's face. She looked over her shoulder before looping her arm in John's. "I heard stories though... one of the patients tells me he escapes rather often, but I think he just likes to worry his brother with such ideas. There's no proof... but then... of course, there wouldn't be..." Her sentence trailed into a whisper as John followed her into a room with stacks of uniforms, linens, pillows and towels. She grabbed a particularly fluffy towel and let him rub at his tawny hair while she pulled out different pale blue shirts and matching trousers.

"I think you're a medium..." She muttered all the while. "My husband was a medium..."

John didn't know what to make of her nattering, so he took a few sizes and went to a nearby bathroom to change. On the way out he thanked Mrs. Hudson again, to which she coloured slightly and told him that if he didn't pack a lunch she'd put something aside for him in the kitchen. He only had to enquire for her at lunchtime.

"Don't be shy! Everyone knows everyone around here!" She coaxed as they parted. John didn't get a chance to get in the last word before the woman disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone in the hallway.

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At 8am sharp, John stood alone across from Mr. Holmes in his office, and instantly felt the lighthearted mood he had been feeling earlier became sucked into the whirling vacuum that was his boss' smile.

"Punctual. Very good."

John felt as if he were being praised for performing a neat trick. He merely smiled diplomatically, wishing that Bill could have started on the same day so that there was some semblance of humanity left in the room. With every passing second John wondered if Holmes was _something else_.

"Shall we get started then?" John was being awkward, and it was rare for him to feel like he was fumbling through a conversation.

Mr. Holmes paid no mind and nodded at the suggestion. The two of them left the office swiftly and John was given a complete run down of his duties.

For the first three hours he was told how the entire asylum operated and who was expected to do what. In the end there wasn't a face John wasn't introduced to, since Mr. Holmes showed John the ID badges of anyone who wasn't on shift. It would have been overwhelming if there wasn't so few on the roster. Besides the cleaning staff, there were only ever four other attendants and two psychologists present at a time. When John asked about the small number, Mr. Holmes scoffed.

"We aren't harbouring criminals Dr. Watson. Many here just need a place to exist where those of high society cannot laugh or jeer. For the one or two of our patrons who are... extremely _malcontent_ with their lot in life, the staff we have on hand will suffice. You will find that most of our guests are quite capable of taking care of themselves."

John and Holmes stopped in the middle of an upstairs hallway that housed ten patients, five on either side of the corridor. There were numbers on the doors - one through ten, as well as name plates. John's attention immediately were attracted to the rooms 1 and 2 for the names etched there were familiar.

"Family members?" John asked as he pointed to the first plate which read **Ashling Holmes** and then to the second which had **Sherlock Holmes** printed boldly.

Holmes sighed and turned to face the doors. "A correct observation. The first is my aunt and the other is my brother. You will be acquainted with them and the rest of the wing by the end of the shift. You are to deliver their medication twice a day and ensure that they eat, sleep, bathe and exercise regularly. Very few will require you to actually interfere." As he said this his eyes lingered on the second door. "If you have any difficulty, you should report to me directly."

John nodded and allowed himself to be escorted downstairs where he was dismissed for an hour lunch break. He entered the cafeteria looking slightly disoriented for he didn't know if he were allowed to eat there or not. Luckily Mrs. Hudson spotted him and waved him over to the counter.

"How has your day been so far?" She handed him a bowl of some steaming pasta and a warm scone over the glass.

"Good. Good... a lot to take in, but I'm sure I'll figure it all out soon. Thank-you for lunch."

"We always have plenty left over, so I can sneak you some occasionally... just don't make it into a habit! I have some dessert set aside for you later..." She went on to serve an older gentleman behind John, chatting him up like she were his mum. It made John feel warm towards the woman. It wasn't often you found someone like her looking after you.

As John poured himself a coffee, another attendant came up beside him and started to pour a cup of tea. When she noticed John, she gave him a natural grin and looked at his food tray. "Mrs. Hudson took a liking to you already? You must be something special." Her name was Sarah. Sarah Sawyer. He remembered Mr. Holmes stating that she was in charge of the wing below his.

"I think everyone is special to her." He turned around and watched her teasing a young woman with dyed hair, "Taking care of people seems to be her talent."

Sarah glanced at him and smiled, "What's yours?"

"What...?" John said, taken back by the strangeness of the question.

"If it's standing awkwardly by the beverage trolley, I think you have a real knack for it." She laughed as John went momentarily speechless. She grabbed him by the arm and guided them both to a table by the window. The weather was still horrible, but the flora around the grounds was gorgeous. "Seriously though, not everyone lands this job. Mycroft takes the positions very thoughtfully. I learned he had dredged up my entire family history before taking me on."

"Well, I'm a nobody. Nothing really interesting about me. I just have the skills required I suppose." John took a bite out of his pasta and was transported to the days when his grandmother would make ravioli from scratch. "_This_... this is really good pasta."

Sarah smirked. "They have the best cooks here, I wouldn't be surprised."

"This is all rather posh isn't it? I didn't think establishments like these existed."

"Normally they don't. This building was built less than a decade ago, funded almost entirely by the Holmes family and managed by Mycroft. Rumours say it was for the benefit of his little brother.

"Sherlock?"

Sarah's eye widened, "You've met him already?"

"No... I was shown where his room is though. He's in the wing I'm responsible for."

Suddenly it was as if a heavy weight had slid between them. Sarah looked away, taking a sip of her tea in order to explain the silence. John watched her face intently, looking for an answer to the strange tension.

"Not good I take it?"

"I was hoping that they'd give that area to Rita, since she has the most experience. We were hoping that maybe she could handle it." She chewed on her lower lip as she glanced back to the doctor across from her, "but it seems cruel of Mycroft to throw you in that wing when he knows that there's been problems in the past."

A wrinkle appeared on John's forehead, "What do you mean _problems_?"

Sarah sighed. "Sherlock isn't the easiest fellow to get to know. He's like a five-year-old in a tantrum half the time, and the other times he's just plain cruel. Never get on his bad side. The best you can do is ignore him and just do your job _around_ him." She set down her teacup with a heavy clunk. "Then there's the man in room six... Jim. He's all sorts of mad. Maddest one in here, but you wouldn't notice unless you had to mind him.

"Trouble?"

"That whole wing is trouble John."

The doctor took another bite of his pasta and stared out the window. Sarah's reflection interested him. The look of concern on her brow was very endearing. If he wasn't careful, he would be following in Bill's footsteps.

"How did the bloke before me cope?"

Sarah set down her cup and stood from the table. The sound of her chair moving across the polished floor made the hair on John's neck stand on end – at least that's what he told himself, because he wouldn't admit to himself that what she said next had made him want to run very far away.

"He didn't. One of his patient's drove him to suicide."

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